


Missing Pieces

by Hekate1308



Series: Tales of the Thursdays [6]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, The Thursdays adopt Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Filling in the blanks.





	Missing Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again. What can I say? Enjoy!

It was the first night Morse was even conscious of having a new bed, or rather, having a bed in Sam’s room. As far as he had understood, Mr. and Mrs. Thursday had taken Sam to sleep in their room for now, so Morse could fully recuperate; he felt slightly guilty about it even though Mrs. Thursday had told him not to think about it.

He didn’t manage to go to sleep after the whole family had wished him good night for quite a while – probably because he’d spent most of the last few days passed out; but now, several questions kept circling around in his head.

How had he ended up here? Morse was ready to admit that apparently he’d been more ill than he had thought, and really, it didn’t surprise him that the Thursdays would take care of him; but how…

_Morse was shivering; he couldn’t recall ever having felt colder in his life. Someone picked him up and then he was being carried away. He was too confused to understand what was going on, but then…_

Apparently Mr. Thursday had carried him right out6 of his father’s house. Maybe he’d told them that as a police officer, he was allowed to? More importantly though, why? He knew neither Dad nor Gwen cared for him very much, but surely they would have looked after him while he was recuperating…

Still, he couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t have gotten as much care and… he wouldn’t have gotten as much care and love if he had stayed at Dad’s. Mrs. Thursday came into his room at least once very hour to make sure he had everything he needed, Joan and Sam barely left his side, and Mr. Thursday had visited him immediately after he came home from work.

It felt nice to be cared for.

The next few days passed just like the one he’d woken up on. No matter how much he tried, Mrs. Thursday would run up and down the stairs to check up on him; and Joan and Sam, despite his fears that they might come down with a cold too, constantly came into his – no, Sam’s – room to spend more time with him.

Mr. Thursday made it a habit to look in on him before he left for work and after he returned at night. “Well, Morse, looks like you’re on the road to recovery.”

“I am feeling much better, thank you.”

He squeezed his shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

“Mr. Thursday…” he hesitated for a moment.

“Out with it”.

“Dad hasn’t called, has he?” he asked, a small part of him insisting that certainly his father would wonder how he was doing.

Later, he would think that any other adult would probably have lied to him.

Instead, Mr. Thursday sighed, then said, “No. Sorry, lad.”

“It’s alright.”

It wasn’t. Surely, _surely_ he must mean more to his own father than just a burden to get rid of?

“Oy, Morse” Mr. Thursday said, squeezing his shoulder again, “I am sure he’s…” he trailed off, apparently deciding against trying to find an excuse.

“Like I said…”

“You just focus on getting better” Mr. Thursday told him abruptly. “You get better, and then we’ll see.”

He had no idea what they were going to see once he got better, but it seemed to be the safest bet to simply nod and accept the statement.

It was nice that Mr. Thursday lingered for a while after that, though, just making small talk and trying to make him feel better because he wanted to.

It was nice just being cared for, period.

Morse told himself firmly not to get used to it; after all, now that he was on the mend, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be returning home soon.

It would continue to surprise him in the coming weeks that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Thursday ever mentioned the subject, not even when he was allowed to get up

* * *

 

Morse would never know that the evening he and Fred had talked about his father not being in contact, Win looked up to find her husband enter the kitchen with a contrite expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, immediately alarmed.

“Don’t worry pet, Morse’s fine. But I just realized…” he stopped talking.

“Yes?”

“Well… you know we were in a hurry to get Morse out of there and let a doctor have a good look at him…”

“Of course.”

“So I… might have just told the Morses that we were taking care of him and… gone on to carry him out of there.”

She studied him for a moment until the penny dropped. “Wait. You didn’t even give them our address?”

“Nor our phone number, I’m afraid.”

“Fred Thursday” she said slowly, “Are you telling me we _kidnapped_ that boy?”

“It would seem so, pet.”

They stared at one another. Then, they both burst into laughter.

“Well, he hasn’t reported missing him yet” Fred said once they had clamed down, “I’d know that, at least. And as long as he’s not fully recovered…”

“Oh no, we can’t possibly let him back into that damp house before he’s healthy.”

Later, they would think that each of them had already been in the process of making the decision that Morse wasn’t going back at all, even if they themselves were not aware of it yet.

* * *

 

The next day, Fred quickly looked up the Morses’ phone number. As strange as it sounded, until the lad had asked, it hadn’t occurred to him that his father would even wonder how he was. Maybe because he had appeared profoundly unconcerned when Fred had told him they were going to take care of Morse. Or when he’d grabbed him and rushed out, now that he thought of it. He had been rather understandably preoccupied at the time…

 _Understandably preoccupied_? Sounded like something Morse would say. He smiled to himself as he dialled.

His smile dropped, however, when he heard Mrs. Morse’s voice. He had never had any patience for people who married someone and treated their children like they were worth less than their own. If he or Win had had kids from a previous marriage, the other would have loved them just as they did Joan or Sam, he was sure.

 _Or Morse_ , he suddenly realized. Or Morse.

He courtly told the woman that Morse was on the mend and likely to be fit as a fiddle again soon. The second the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them. What if she demanded they return Morse? In the next moment, he chided himself for the thought. The lad wasn’t a package to be shipped about, for God’s sake.

Still… They had all grown so fond of him. Joan and Sam wouldn’t understand, and Fred and Win would spend the whole time worrying about him.

To his relief (and, he would later think, probably to Mrs. Morse’s) neither of them mentioned Morse going back home at all. She simply told him that she’d let her husband know, and that was it.

Yes. That was it.

Because, as Fred put the phone down, he once and for all made the conscious decision that Morse was not going back to that house if he could help it.

* * *

 

For Win, the decision had already bene taken, although she didn’t know it yet.

She got to know her own thoughts on the subject on the afternoon she and Morse bought him new clothes and a LP. He’d been so thankful, and had smiled so happily; even the saleslady in the shop had been infected by his cheerfulness. If you asked Win, being happy and smiling was a much more natural thing for a young boy than looking as dejected as he had when they first met.

He was currently busy explaining to Joan and Sam how the record player worked.

They were both staring at him, completely enraptured; Win snuck glances at them from time to time.

It was when she heard Morse gently say, “Careful, Sam” and found that he had actually entrusted his new prize possession to their youngest that she realized what a wonderful big brother he was.

Then she became aware of what she had been thinking.

And then and there she swore to herself that she would do anything in her power to make it happen.

* * *

 

He was in the park with Joan and Sam, had in fact just found the tree he’d read under when he first met the boy who would eventually become his little brother and marvelled at how fast and sudden his life had changed for the better, when Joan called out “Dev!”

He needed a moment to work out that it was him she was calling for. When he turned around and saw them bother un up to him, he raised an eyebrow. “Dev?”

“I just came up with it!” she said proudly. “Now you have a nickname!”

“What do I need a nickname for?”

“You give people you like nicknames, silly. Like when you and Mum and Dad call me Joanie.” When Joan explained something, it always seemed like the most logical thing in the world.

He thought about it for a moment. Dev. It didn’t sound too bad; and he had certainly never been comfortable with anyone but Mum (the old pain reared its head, but he quickly moved on) calling him Endeavour.

And Joan had said she gave him a nickname because she liked him.

“I don’t mind” he told them and Joan nodded as if she had known all along.

* * *

 

Mother and Dad soon realized.

“Joan give you a nickname, son?” Dad asked that night as they were drinking tea.

“Yes. She just came up with it. I believe she is rather proud of her idea.”

“We can tell her that she shouldn’t if you don’t like it, dear” Mother immediately said.

“No, no, I do. I was just surprised.”

Joan had a habit of doing that. She enjoyed it.

IT didn’t take Mother and Dad long to call him Dev too after that. He didn’t mind at all.

* * *

 

One day he was reading to Sam – _Anne of Green Gables_ – when he suddenly asked him, “Did someone read this to you when you were like me?”

It was one of the sudden questions that he liked to pose and Morse quietly answered, “Mum read it to me.”

He nodded. “But now you’re big, so Mum doesn’t have to anymore.”

Belatedly, he realized Sam had decided that he meant _his_ mum, not Morse’s. Apparently, he’d been right – in his view, they’d always been brothers.

When he told Mother later, all she said was, “He was only two when we first met you, dear. I am sure he’ll understand when he gets older.”

He nodded. Really, it didn’t matter. He was Joan’s and Sam’s older brother, and he always would be. Come what may.

* * *

 

“Well done, Mr. Morse, as usual –“

“If you don’t mind, sir, it’s Thursday now” Dev interrupted him. It probably wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but he just wanted people to know, and he figured he should start with his teacher.

He looked at him, then smiled. “Ah yes. I see. Mr. Thursday then, but still well done.”

During recess, the other boys in his class of course started making jokes.

“So, Thursday” Toby began, “I don’t know I’d rather go for Friday or Saturday anyway.”

“I’ve always been fond of Tuesday, myself” Albert announced, “Mum bakes on Tuesdays.”

Dev knew them to well to think they meant anything by it, so he simply said, “I just wanted to have the same name as the rest of my family, that’s all.”

“I get that” Mark, one of the quieter boys, said. “That’s why I took my stepdad’s name.”

At that, they all fell silent. Everyone knew that Mark’s biological father hadn’t exactly been – well – nice, to put it mildly.

He and Dev smiled at one another though, the smile of the shared experience of finding family when they had least expected it.


End file.
